Wet
by SaganBoy
Summary: I miss her like the sun misses the flower.." Geoffs point of view. WARNING! Contains mostly WatChaucer slash! You have been warned.


"I miss her like the sun misses the flower."

Those were the most truly poetic words to come from Wats mouth, and the redhead was gorgeous without them.

I, the great writer so-called and so-known as Geoff Chaucer, have fallen for a man. A man who is, to be honest, a total and complete imbecile who often focuses on beating other people up. Or "fonging" as he chooses to refer to it as. Such a barbaric term. It fits him, though, and his simple vocabulary. If he said "mangle" I would be almost afraid that either he or I had gone a bit light-headed from all the drinks.

That was another thing. Wat always ALWAYS drank compius amounts of rum which I seldom have to measure without the use of barrels. I, on the other more refined hand, only drink a few glasses of wine at best before stopping. Getting smashed does not do wonders for the brain, this much I can be sure of. Still that could be a countable reason for why Wat is the way he is, perhaps alcohol is seriously bad for the mortal body. If such is a fact I would not wish Wat to drink any less or any more for he is perfect as he stands. Not too bright but filled with a common wisdom I look inside myself and find there is a mysterious lacking.

If I had to describe Wat like I see him everyday, it would be as poetic as my normal words but they would not be wasted on mere conversing, no, they shalt not fall upon a group of others who hear only my few true meanings pecked out of the nest that is a vast knowledge. This is of something in far greater importance. My affections, my possible love, towards a man who I must confess appears to barely tolerate my pressence if not hate me all-togethor. That in itself is depressing, but what is further shown to make me mad with want and foolish emotions found so often in romantic tales between royals has become just how much I notice about Wat. His quirks, his looks, his whole essence.

It's intoxicating, really. More addictive than gambling even. That is a feat which scares me the most, as nothing ever has matched my desire-- nay, NEED for luck and fortune.

What do I see when I look at Wat? Well, first of all I see his hair. HIS hair. Oh, my giddy-odd, his hair. It looks like fire moving toward a town, the background being a rare sunset of pure orange just as the sun is falling so low it might help the growing flames. His hair matches his spirit, now that I think about it further. Passionate, strong, not yeilding, somewhat rash.. destructive, maybe, but also a sign of energy and pure love. Love that even William and Josselyn I doubt will ever know they might posess-- so true no one with a dishonest thought in their skull could hope to understand or experience.

The next thing to come when I happen upon his appearance, when he ISN'T strangling me in a head-lock or pummeling me to a fine powder, is his face. Not so much his eyes which I've come to recognize as an emerald sapphire mix of sea colors, but just his face as a whole package deal. Freckles dust his nose and cheeks, his reddish blond brows knit tight half the hours in a day with some feeling akin to confusion or anger. Or the suprised, somewhat unsure look that can be glimpsed. As if he isn't sure how to react, but was not confused entirely by what you'd just said. I require myself to admit that this expression among his many varying ones is my particular favorite.

It was the same one he'd given me when I kissed him.

He didn't look angry at me, which I was somewhat frightened he might be. He looked dazed. Like he didn't know how to respond, but wasn't bothered or deterred by the touch of my lips on his. Lost, I guess, would be the proper term. Lost to a world I wasn't sure I knew how to rescue him from, nor how to call to him from my own place of mental weavings. Luckily, the decision was made for me by my body. That is very strange for me. You see, my brain normally controls everything I do or say or think. This time, my body took over entirely as if it just.. knew what to preform as due to some foreign instinct. Perhaps this is how Wat feels all the time? If so, it is a very carefree sensation. It started at the tips of my toes and by the time it reached my crown I envied him for it. So blissful, so naturally graceful.. certainly, t'was so much easier.

And, to my great suprise, I was not shoved away. I thought if I had experienced that impulse Wat might feel an opposite one; to pull away. But, not so. And I was greatful to be proven wrong for once in my adventurous life. No, on my contrary, he pulled me IN. Yes, your ears and eyes are working quite perfectly. No need to check them, rest assure. Wat grabbed my shirt and dragged me down with him with such drama and heat even my articulate sentences fall in comparison. I feel a little disappointed in myself, actually, for not being able to relay it as it deserves to be told. If I were Wat, however, I believe I would say it was.. in all senses of the word..

Wet. 


End file.
